Time to find solace in proverbs
Time to grind collyrium for
the eye that always looks outwards
Time to believe that the sun will be
at hand even after the horizon
shakes off all colours
Time to let the cool of clay
rub rain into every pore
Time to lean closer to the leaves
that render leave-taking easier
Time to listen to the sound of rivers
draining into recurring dreams
Time to lay all verbs to rest
so there’s nothing between
you and the sleep of trees
